There's No Place Like Home
by Doc Roe
Summary: This is how I think Supernatural will end.


**This is how I think Supernatural will end. Reviews would be nice.**

All things end. They knew they were no exception. Not this time.

Dean held his side as the warm blood spilled over his hands. He could barely feel his legs; in all actuality, all sensations were beginning to wane. But it didn't matter. Slight details when all he wanted was to get across the yard. The smell of burning rubber filled the hot dusk air and the gravel beneath him dug into his hands and knees. All he had was the strength of one arm to pull his body to where Sam laid.

"Sammy!" he called with whatever bit of might he had left in his system. He had to know that his little brother was alive. Just until he got there.

"Dean," he heard followed by a rough cough. "Help me." Sam couldn't move despite how hard he tried. The gun shots to his legs and the burns to his torso prevented such an action. Damn near mind-numbing.

Science would say that Dean's attempt to get to his brother should've killed him alone. The amount of blood he lost just moving ten feet was almost gastronomical. But then again, he's been known to defy a few laws in his day- why would science be any different now? "I've gotcha," he sighed lying next to his brother. The two stared at the smoke-ridden sky. Waiting.

"Sammy," his words were choked by a mixture of blood and tears. "I'm sorry."

A cut hand found its likeness. All they could do was hold onto one another.

"I know," the younger's voice dropped to just below a whisper. "I'm sorry too."

Dean gripped Sam's hand tighter. "I know."

They knew what the words were loaded with. They might've been sorry for the state they'd gotten themselves in. Maybe Sam was sorry for leaving for Stanford. Or maybe Dean was sorry for asking dragging him back into the family business. Only they knew.

The setting sun was darkening the sky over Bobby's lot. They heard their names being called, but it seemed like it was coming from a dream. For now, all they saw was light despite the blackness that surrounded them. When Bobby finally got to his boys, it was too late. A tear drop hadn't even finished rolling down Sam's temple when he knelt to them. Castiel appeared on Dean's side, placing a hand lightly on his friend's shoulder.

"Fix them," Bobby barked without even looking up. "Bring 'em back."

The angel looked up at the aging hunter with softened eyes. "I can't."

"Can't or won't." he was now gripping Sam's free hand. It didn't take long before his tired eyes were brimming with the salty wetness.

"Both," Castiel replied looking down at the Winchesters. A pitiful sight they were. "They are done."

A sob ripped from the Bobby's throat as it shook him entirely. It was a powerful thing, seeing the closest thing to sons he ever had, lying in pools of their own blood and knowing that this time, they wouldn't make a miraculous recovery. "Well, where are they?" he then asked. Castiel looked up towards the sky, as the first set of stars began to poke through the carnage. The tiniest hint of a smile played on his lips. "I would imagine," he paused bringing his attention back down again. "At peace."

His hand moved from his shoulder to Dean's eyes. He closed them, covering the green hues that lay beneath. Bobby did the same to Sam. He knew that what Castiel said was right. Perhaps there really is peace for them, now that they are done.

_It seemed like any other summer day. The air was hot, the sky was clear, and the grass was high. The two-lane asphalt looked as though it was freshly made, and the Impala that sat upon it, reflected the sunlight off its shiny black hood._

_Dean whipped his head around. He was no longer lying between a pile of crappy cars, but in his leather jacket and not a single scratch. The look he gave his precious car was that of pure love. He rested a hand on it and smiled. It had been a long time since he'd seen her. And frankly, she was perfect. But something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye._

_Sam, looking the same as he did when his brother found him at Stanford, was walking toward his brother. The two stared at one another for a moment without saying anything when he reached the Impala. Dean let go of the metallic handle to embrace his pain the ass little brother. There was no sadness. No grief. No guilt. No pain. Not this time._

_"Boys," a voice called out._

_They broke apart to look out into the grassy field that separated them from the two story house in the distance. John was standing on the porch holding Mary in his arm. "It's time for dinner." She added._

_Two little boys broke out into a race. Little Sammy struggled, but Dean slowed up just a little bit to let his baby brother catch up. "C'mon, Sammy." He called back. "Gotta keep up." Finally, he stopped and bent down, allowing for Sam to climb onto his back. Dean carried him the rest of the way to the porch. He jumped down, running up the steps and into his father's strong arms. Mary extended a hand to her oldest son, who took it with a smile. She led the way into the house, followed by John with five year old Sammy on his shoulders. The door closed behind them, allowing them to live the life they always deserved. For you see, there's really no place like home. And for Winchester's, it was never a specific place. It was a family. Though fractured and flawed, solace was found in those that loved them the most. Despite all the people they met along the way and all they loved and lost, it was all a means to get here._


End file.
